


Boy Trouble

by twinkrevali



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Losers Club (IT), Alternate Universe - He's Just Not That Into You (2009), Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Developing Friendships, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Little Shit, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, Established Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eventual Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eventual Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Eventual Romance, F/M, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humour, Just Some Good Old Fashioned Silliness, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Relationship Advice, Richie Tozier is oblivious, Romantic Comedy, Stanley Uris Lives, Unrequited Hate, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23372668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinkrevali/pseuds/twinkrevali
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak has a unique talent for scaring away every person he tries to date. Enter Richie Tozier, the infuriating bartender who, for some reason, Eddie can't seem to stay away from. Maybe it's the advice he gives Eddie about not being so uptight, or maybe it's the fact that Eddie can call him whatever stupid names pop into his head and all he gets is a laugh in return. Either way, enlisting Richie's help seems to be the only option he's got - and he feels like he might need a lot of it.Loosely based on the 2009 romcom He's Just Not That Into You - you don't need to have watched the movie to understand the story but it's such a fun movie you should watch it anyway.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26





	1. In Which Eddie Goes On A Bad Date

**Author's Note:**

> Hello old and new friends, it's be a hot min since I posted anything here and I bet y'all are expecting something different but here I am, a simple man who's tripped ass over head into yet another fandom lmao 
> 
> I'm tentatively uploading this first chapter because it will be my first longfic and I'm scared of committing but I'm gonna give it a red hot go!! Plus I think posting the first chap will be a good way of motivating myself to actually finish it lmao
> 
> I am welcoming concrit as I get into the flow of writing something that's...more than one chapter lmao so please bear with me, we're all in this together!!! Anyway, that's it from me for now, please enjoy and let me (kindly) know what you think!!!

Eddie Kaspbrak is not an anxious person. He just likes to know what’s going on at all times y’know? Likes to be kept in the loop of life, one could say. Do his friends tell him this makes him appear ‘unhinged and desperate’ (Stanley’s words) or ‘a bit intense’ (Bill’s words) at times? Sure! But he knows they’re just being dramatic because he is absolutely not like that. In fact he’s so not like that, he has only texted his date 10 times in the last hour - and only about important things, like making sure he’s gotten the address right (texts 1-3); and checking whether the restaurant is allergy friendly - not that he has any allergies to speak of, he just likes to be cautious (texts 4 and 5) - and that his date is running on time (texts 5-8); and that he’s arrived and is seated at the table (texts 9 and 10). He’s about to send lucky text number 11, but at that moment he sees his date walk into the restaurant and scan the tables for Eddie’s face, giving a small wave when he spots him. His name is Will, and this whole thing was Stanley’s idea. He’s an attractive guy - tall, broad in the shoulders, maybe his hair is a little messy but it’s not like that’s a capital offence or anything. When he sits down he smiles, and Eddie takes note of how straight his teeth are. He had braces as a child for sure. Eddie would be willing to bet that this sucker still wears a retainer. 

‘So what do you do for work, Eddie?’ 

Eddie is snapped out of his silent assessment by Will, who is watching him with a slight smile on his face. 

‘Uh, I’m a pastry chef, actually’, he answers honestly, and he sees something flicker across William’s face. ‘Baking makes me happy,’ he continues, trying not to get defensive, ‘and it pays better than you’d think’. Will puts his hands up in mock surrender. ‘No judgement here,’ he chuckles, I’m an accountant, after all.’ Eddie lets out a huffy little breath, looking down at the menu. He is already tired of this interaction and yet this but he doesn’t want to let down Stan by bailing five minutes in. Not that disappointing Stanely is something one can typically avoid.

They talk lightly through dinner, and Eddie tries (and fails) to ignore the fact that Will talks with his mouth full. He finds himself fighting off a physical reaction every time Will looks at him before he speaks, throat working as he swallows his food. In any other circumstances, the smooth bobbing of his Adam’s Apple would be exactly the kind of thing that Eddie would find attractive. As it stands, in this moment the charm is somewhat dulled by the poor choice of actions by its owner. Eventually it is too much to handle and he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, calling Stanley as he taps his foot impatiently against the tiled bathroom floor.

‘Shouldn’t you be talking to someone who is very Not Me?’ Stanley answers the phone, and Eddie lets out a sarcastic laugh.

‘Ha ha ha, very funny,’ he says, looking at his face in the mirror. His eyes are kind of puffy tonight, a consequence of baking late the night before, and as his eyes flick over his features, he makes a mental note to try not to frown so much as he assesses the deep lines forming on his forehead.

Stanley doesn’t bother with formalities before asking Eddie what’s wrong with Will, and Eddie forgets the aforementioned mental note to frown into the mirror, feeling affronted.

‘He’s nice!’ he protests into the phone, ‘can’t I just call my friend who set this whole thing up and give a little update?’

Stanley laughs sardonically into Eddie’s ear. ‘No,’ he deadpans, and Eddie scrunches his nose, looking to the ceiling briefly.

‘Look,’ he says. What little patience he was holding on to prior to this conversation has been overrun by nerves and anger at himself for being so apparently predictable. His speech comes tumbling out of his mouth almost too fast for his brain to keep up with as he complains to Stanley. ‘He talks with fucking food in his mouth and if one _crumb_ of half eaten food even so much as falls out of his mouth and back onto his _plate_ I’m getting the fuck out of here. As well as that he didn’t reply to my texts about whether the restaurant is allergy friendly, which it isn’t!’

‘Okay firstly, I do feel obligated to point out that you don’t have any food allergies,’ Stanley starts, but before he can continue, he’s cut off.

‘That is like, entirely besides the point!’ Eddie seethes, and Stan ignores him, continuing loudly, ‘ _secondly_ , I have an important question: does he talk with his mouth full? Or does he talk as he’s finishing the food in his mouth?’ 

The question makes Eddie balk.

‘Is there a fucking difference?’ He all but spits into the phone, and if Stanley was standing in front of him he knows he’d be wearing that stupid _are you kidding me_ face he pulls with his eyes closed and eyebrows infuriatingly raised. ‘I thought so,’ Stanley sighs into the phone.

‘Look, can you please just shut up and get back out there,’ Stanley snaps into Eddie’s ear. ‘You’re being rude.’ 

Eddie doesn’t even have a chance to think of a retort before he hears a dial tone.

When he heads back out to their table, William has finished eating, and is looking up from his phone when Eddie returns to his seat. ‘Everything okay?’ He asks Eddie, and Eddie feels a pang of guilt as he smiles sheepishly, making up some bullshit about having an upset stomach. Eventually the waiter comes over and asks if they’d like another drink and they look at each other, each asking the same silent question.

‘Do you-’

‘I don’t mind-’ 

They both start to speak at the same time and laugh, William gesturing to Eddie to go first. 

‘I don’t mind either way,’ Eddie says, trying to sound casual. Despite being desperate for this interaction to end, he’s not a complete asshole, and he doesn’t want to let Stanley down any more than he already has by very blatantly bailing on this stranger who, to his credit, has generally turned out to be a very nice man.

‘I mean I could go for another drink,’ William answers, eyes twinkling, and Eddie tries to smile as painlessly as he can as the waiter nods curtly and heads back to the bar. 

At the end of the night they part ways outside the restaurant, going through the social niceties of saying how nice a time they had and that they should catch up again sometime. Eddie has zero intent of going through with such a promise, but he smiles and waves all the same as he turns and starts down the street, waiting until he’s sure William is on his own way in the opposite direction before pulling out his phone and texting stanley. 

**To: Stan**

**From: Eddie**

**[9:16pm] thanks for setting it up tonight**

**[9:16pm] I will never see him again**

**From: Stan**

**To: Eddie**

**[9:20pm] Noted. Will not try to set you up with anyone ever again.**

**To: Stan**

**From: Eddie**

**[9:21pm] Fuck you but also good because all ur friends who arent me suck**

**[9:22pm] Except for Bill and Mike**

**From: Stan**

**To: Eddie**

**[9:24pm] Except for Bill and Mike.**

When he gets home, Eddie lets himself sink into his couch and scrolls through Netflix for what feels like a million years, but is in fact only fifteen minutes. He hasn’t lived with his mother for years now but he still feels tense when he’s trying to let himself do nothing at home, and tonight is no different, with leftover nerves from his date not helping.

When the silence of his apartment starts to feel unbearable, he jumps up from the couch and all but runs to the kitchen, wrenching his cupboard and fridge doors open to see what he can make into something he definitely won’t eat but can force on to Bill, Mike and Stan. He throws himself into making a Banoffee pie, letting his mind go numb as he watches the biscuit and butter crumble and come together in his food processor and the toffee bubble on the stove. He makes a coffee syrup out of the grinds that are sitting in his French press from the morning and slices a banana for the garnish, arranging the slices carefully over the toffee before finishing the pie off with beautiful white peaks of fresh whipped cream. He knows when he presents this to his friends they are going to immediately interrogate him but he doesn’t care. He is calm and totally fine now and yes, maybe he is still tearing his jacket off his coat rack and bolting from his apartment, but that has nothing to do with anything! He simply has decided that as well as baking, he would like to go for a walk. At eleven pm. He is doing just fine.

He finds himself wandering down the main strip of his neighbourhood, a loud street cramped with bars and restaurants that serve food he wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. When he gets to the end of the strip, he stops at a bar he’s never noticed before - a small corner spot with an exterior that’s plastered with posters boasting live acts and comedy nights. There are still a few people milling around the outside seating area, and soft upbeat music carries out into the street through the large decorative bay windows sticking out of the front of the building, and the noise draws him in. The allure of being anonymous is enough to damper the dull roar of anxiety in his ears. When he steps inside he makes a beeline for the bar, finds a seat with surprising ease, considering the crowd, and sinks into a plush barstool. 

The place is nicer inside than it looks from the street, with a large circular bar behind which bartenders dance around each other making drinks. The lights are low hanging and scattered throughout the whole bar, hanging loose from the roof with bright round globes that give the place a soft, cosy glow. As he looks around the interior of the place, he spots the stage pushed into a far corner. Despite its placement, it holds an authoritative energy, and Eddie finds himself making a mental note to check out which performances are happening this month. When he turns back to the bar he notices one of the bartenders, a trendy looking woman with wavy red hair and a loud laugh that carries across the space. She spots him staring and winks, saying something inaudible to the cluster of customers in front of her before making her way over to him.

‘What’ll it be?’ she says when she gets to him, and he panics for a moment trying to think of something off the top of his head. He’s never been much of a drinker and the vodka sodas he had tonight made his mouth feel like he’d eaten five cotton balls.

‘What will make my mouth not feel like I’ve licked the ass of someone made out of sandpaper?’ 

The bartender barks out a laugh of surprise, eyes wide, and Eddie stares at her until it becomes apparent he is not joking.

‘Ooookay then,’ she says, turning from him slowly. She grabs a tall glass and a carton of milk and shouts over her shoulder, ‘is whole milk okay?’

‘Excuse me?’ Eddie replies, not sure whether he’s more insulted or confused, and she looks over her shoulder with an ‘gotcha!’ face before turning around again. 

‘I’m just fucking with you. What kind of drinks do you usually like? I can make you something juice based?’

‘Something that doesn’t taste like alcohol,’ Eddie mumbles, suddenly embarrassed at how childish he sounds, but the bartender nods, turning away from him with noticeably less flourish than before. It’s then he notices a sticker stuck to her ass that says ‘Hi! My Name Is: Ms Molly.’ He figures it’s kind of a weird place to put a name tag (and a weird way of also telling people you are single), but he doesn’t question it as she sets his drink on a little paper coaster in front of him. 

‘Thanks, Molly,’ he says, trying to sound friendly, and she looks at him, obviously confused. 

‘What did you just call me?’ she says, and somehow Eddie thinks the smile on her face isn’t because she’s pleasantly surprised he called her by her name. 

‘Uh. I called you Molly? It’s on your name tag.’

‘What nametag?’ Not-Molly says, and Eddie feels his heart start beating in his ears. 

‘The one on your...the back of your pants,’ he says, bringing his drink to his mouth as an excuse to stop speaking. She tries to twist her body around to look at her ass before clicking her tongue and snatching the name tag off her back pocket, reading it silently with a wry smile on her face.

‘Thank you,’ she says to him suddenly with bright eyes, ‘this is the final piece of evidence I need to file a harassment complaint against my manager. For the record, my actual name is Beverly.’

Eddie is rendered speechless for a moment, but he recovers quickly as he watches her skip over to a man chatting animatedly to someone Eddie assumes is a customer around the other side of the bar. The man jumps in surprise as his co-worker slaps the name tag into his cheek, turning to blink down at her with rapt attention. She says something inaudible to him, and he suddenly beams at her like a kid at Christmas. The name tag is obviously a running gag, and Eddie feels a prickle of annoyance across his temples for being dragged into what is so clearly some immature little inside joke.

He gets up from his spot, patting down his pockets for change to leave a tip with when suddenly he’s shrouded in the shadow of someone standing over him.

‘You obviously don’t come round here very often.’ 

Eddie looks up at the man now smirking down at him. He’s taller than Eddie and much, much scruffier, with thick black glasses framing his face. The sweater he’s wearing is littered with so many holes that Eddie is surprised he’s even allowed to wear it in public, like, legally, and he glares into the man’s face. He draws himself to his full height, which, in comparison to the human pillar of cement in front of him, is not much.

‘Maybe you’re just unobservant,’ he retorts, making to walk around the dude, who is openly leering at him as he tries to shuffle past. He makes a private point of ignoring the way the dark frames of the stranger’s glasses get pushed up the bridge of his nose as he grins at Eddie wolfishly.

‘Maybe,’ the man concedes, ‘but I don’t think I’d have a hard time remembering you. You can call me Richie - this little shithole is my place.’

Eddie doesn’t even bother to wonder what the fuck the first part of that sentence means, but he finds himself squinting into th face of this stranger ( _Richie_ says a traitorous little voice in his head), trying to work out what his deal is. He must be more transparent than he thinks he is because Richie sits down on the bar stool he had just been occupying, bringing him (almost) directly face to face with Eddie. 

‘So are you gonna tell me your name or am I gonna have to stick a name tag on _your_ ass?’ He asks Eddie, and Eddie feels his face twist in disgust.

‘Do you talk to all your customers like that?’

‘Only the cute ones,’ comes the reply, fast as lightning.

Eddie doesn’t know what to say to this, so he reaches around Richie, drops a couple of dollars into the tip jar that’s sitting at his end of the bar and shrugs his hands into his pockets. 

‘My name is Eddie,’ he says begrudgingly as he turns towards the exit, ready to get the fuck out of this place. He counts the fact that the latter part of the night has left him _wanting_ to go home as a glaring sign that this bar is obviously cursed as fuck.

As he walks down the bar towards the exit, Richie suddenly jumps off the chair and jogs alongside Eddie with a curious look on his face. ‘Woah, woah, wait up- c’mon, who flattened your dick tonight? You come off a bad date or something?’

Eddie stops short, looking up at this infuriating stranger.

‘Like it’s any of your fucking business,’ he says meanly, and Richie smiles as broadly as he did when his coworker ( _Beverly_ says the little voice again) berated him.

‘That’d make you the second person tonight who’s throwing themselves a pity party in this place after a shitty date,’ he says, and Eddie doesn’t know how to take this, thoughts tumbling around his head as his ears suddenly become uncomfortably hot. His stomach turns as he considers the odds that he knows the first person, and against his better judgement he takes the bait, knowing he won’t be able to rest unless he knows for sure.

‘Who was the first?’ he croaks, voice cracking slightly. The smug look of triumph settling over Richie’s face is infuriating, and he almost doesn’t bother waiting for the answer before Richie starts speaking again.

‘One of my regulars,’ Richie says, playing it cool. ‘He came in earlier and told us about how his date hid in the bathroom for fifteen minutes and then literally grimaced when he suggested they get another drink.’

Eddie blanches. 

‘Uh.’

There’s a beat of silence before Richie looks like he’s about to start vibrating on the spot. ‘Oh my god.’

‘Don’t fucking say anything,’ Eddie says through gritted teeth, wishing more than anything for this interaction to be over so he can leave and walk into oncoming traffic in peace. He wonders how the night went from okay to... _This_ and finds no answer as he watches Richie’s face light up like a fucking Christmas tree that’s been set on fire.

‘Dude, you are an _asshole_ ,’ Richie tells him, not even trying to hide the glee in his expression. He waves frantically at Beverly, calling her over until she leans over the bar at them with a questioning look on her face.

‘This is the dude Will was talking about earlier tonight!’ Richie tells her, voice high with excitement, and Beverly squints at Eddie as if assessing how this information holds up against her interaction with him earlier.

‘Checks out,’ she shrugs after a beat, going back to her customers without a second glance.

Eddie is just about at his fucking limit. He inhales sharply, looking at Richie, who is watching him with an expression that he can only interpret as a threat.

‘Tonight was fun, see you fucking never,’ he says, and this time Richie doesn’t try to stop him as he stomps out the door, almost running into someone trying to enter as he leaves.

‘Sorry,’ the guy apologises in the kindest voice Eddie has ever heard, and he feels himself deflate, little pangs of self-hatred pricking at his skin like needles. As he walks home he considers that he probably didn’t need to be such a standoffish little bitch to Richie, but then again he’s never been good at either confrontation or making friends, due to his aforementioned habit of being a standoffish little bitch. Despite his attitude, however, he still finds himself thinking about being called an asshole by his date (and Richie, who definitely seems like a bigger asshole than he is). Surely he wasn’t in the bathroom for that long? He resolves to call Stanley tomorrow to try and find out whether Will said anything about him, and also to ask if he really does come off as that much of an asshole. He tells himself he doesn’t actually care, but the twinge of guilt he feels pinching the back of his neck is enough for him to know that despite all efforts, he still desperately needs the approval of every single person he meets, courtesy of his mother.

When he gets home, he flops onto his bed without taking his clothes off, face down in his pillow. He doesn’t mean to fall asleep but he passes out in what feels like mere moments.

***

Beverly smirks at Richie as he heads back behind the bar, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. 

‘What?’ he says, blinking at her innocently, and she rolls her eyes, turning away from him to greet the customer who’s just walked in. It’s Ben, and Beverly’s whole body seems to brighten up as she leans as far over the bar as she possibly can, holding her arms out and beckoning him over to the bar. 

‘Ben! My baby!’ She exclaims, and Richie rolls his eyes, turning to attend the dishwasher that’s just finished it cycle.

Ben smiles sheepishly, ears turning red as he takes a seat at the bar. 

‘Who just walked out?’ he asks, taking an appreciative gulp of beer out of the glass Beverly has just set down in front of him, ‘he looked like he was about to cry.’

Beverly grins wide, leering at Richie as he clears his throat, fumbling with the glasses he’s currently unstacking. He recovers quickly, taking a second to wipe his hands on his sweater as he scans the bar nonchalantly before setting his eyes on Ben, who’s watching him with a bemused expression.

‘New guy,’ Richie explains, ‘I don’t know if he’ll become a regular but-’ 

‘But Richie really wants him to,’ Beverly intercuts, and Richie looks at her sharply. ‘His line of sight didn’t break for a _second_ while he watched the guy leave the bar,’ she continues, smiling wickedly ‘if he was a cartoon character his heart would have beat out of his chest and chased him down the street,’ and Richie gives her a shove, rolling his eyes.

‘Fuck off, _Molly_ , I couldn’t give less of a shit about whether he comes back or not, let alone if he becomes a regular. Now if you will excuse me, some of us have a job to do.’ 

He makes a big deal of picking up a tray and making his way around the bar, collecting stray glasses before ducking under the bench and wandering around the tables. Beverly watches him for a second before making a noncommittal noise in her throat and turns her attention onto Ben, who’s also watching Richie as he floats around the place.

‘Fancy another?’ Beverly asks him, and his attention snaps back to her as she gestures to his empty glass.

‘You know it,’ he replies with a smile, watching her with unconcealed adoration as she turns to make his drink.

A sudden noise of disgust comes from behind them, and Ben turns to see Richie sweeping past them, throwing dirty looks at them. Beverly leans over the bench on her elbows and pokes her tongue out at him, laughing when he throws another look at the two of them.

Beverly watches Ben as he gazes out at the stragglers in the bar, mouth twitching into a smile as he listens to Richie yelling about something or other with a customer at the back of the bar. Ben’s been a regular for so long Beverly cant remember a time when he wouldn’t frequent the bar, and she feels her chest grow warm with affection as she reflects on how much he’s opened up to her and Richie over the years. 

‘How’s your writing going?’ she asks him, and he turns to her, picking up his drink with a shy smile.

‘You know I’m an architect, right?’ Ben replies with a wry smile, ‘Why not ask “hey, how’s the architecting going?”’

‘Okay, so how’s the _architecting_ going?’ Beverly asks, looking at him playfully.

‘It’s good, but I’d rather be writing,’ comes Ben’s reply, and Beverly swats him on the arm, guffawing at the self-satisfied grin spreading across his face.

One of the earliest impressions she remembers of him as a customer is the way he would leave crumpled napkins on the bar with lines of poetry scribbled on them when he first started coming in. The ink would bleed into the fibres as condensation from strangers drinks would drop onto the surface, but that wouldn’t stop her from trying to decipher the words at the end of every shift. Ben says she’s his biggest fan, Richie says she’s pathetic. She accepts that both statements are correct.

‘You know, I don’t even think _architecting_ is a proper word,’ she teases, wiping a spill on the bench. Ben looks at her with a suspicious smile, taking a sip of his drink as he watches her. ‘Oh no it totally is,’ he says, playing along, ‘it’s a very serious and official term we in the architecting business use all the time.’ Beverly laughs through her nose, flicking the towel she’s been using at him with no real malice.

‘I’m gonna tell Richie to blacklist you; maybe we’ll appoint the asshole that came in earlier as New Ben.’

Ben makes a noise of protest when Richie ducks under the bench once again, eyes following someone walking past through the window. Beverly catches him, poking him in the side teasingly.

‘Hoping that’s him?’

‘Hoping you do your fucking rounds at some point during the night.’

At this, Beverly cringes, smiling at him sheepishly before picking up the tray he’s placed on the bar and piling the empty glasses into the dishwasher. Ben laughs at her, throwing down the rest of his drink and pushing himself off the barstool. 

‘I think I’m gonna call it for tonight,’ he says, and Beverly pauses what she’s doing to duck under the bench, blowing a big raspberry on his cheek. Now it’s Richie’s turn to poke his tongue out at her, and she rolls her eyes as she leans away from Ben. 

‘Thanks for coming round tonight,’ she says to Ben, walking him to the door, ‘you know we always love to see you.’

Ben hesitates for a moment, looking first to Richie and then to Bev. ‘Thanks,’ he says, fidgeting with his jacket sleeve. He doesn’t move for a second, seeming to muster his strength before speaking in a voice so soft Beverly struggles to hear what he says. ‘I wanted to ask you something before I left.’ His expression is grim and anxious, and Beverly watches him patiently, waiting for him to continue. After a moment, he does.

‘Would it be cool- I mean- would you like to hang out sometime? Like outside the bar?’

Beverly blinks at him before laughing out loud. She stops herself when she sees the wounded look on Ben’s face, waving her hands at him frantically. ‘I’m not laughing at you!’ she reassures him, and he looks at her with doleful eyes as she lets out a breath. ‘I’d love to hang out with you outside the bar,’ she answers, and he beams. ‘We’ve been friends for so long it doesn’t make sense that we haven’t hung out yet.’

‘Great!’ Ben says breathlessly, digging around in his jacket pocket for something. He finds what he’s looking for after a moment, pulling out a small business card and holding it out to her. ‘Here’s my number,’ he tells her, and Beverly stares at the card with an unreadable look on her face for a second before beaming at him. 

‘I’ll message you tonight,’ She assures him, taking the card and stuffing it in her apron pocket, and they wave at each other through the window as he starts walking down the street.

Richie watches the interaction from the bar, fighting a grin as Beverly fingers the outline of Ben’s business card through her apron pocket absentmindedly, appearing to float back to the bar on autopilot. As he watches her, his gaze flickers across the stragglers still hanging out in the bar, picking off the people he knows and appraising the first timers.

He prides himself on this place; on both the bar and the performance space, as well the fact that over the years he’s acquired a neat little collection of regulars. He finds his thoughts drifting to the new customer he met tonight - Eddie was his name - and thinks that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if he did become a regular. There’s something about how uptight the dude seemed that makes Richie feel a little feral; it’s the same feeling he felt as a child being dared to poke at a hornet’s nest. Beverly lets the bench hatch drop behind her with a bang, checking her watch as she picks up the empty tray next to the dishwasher and stacks it with the others. 

‘Last call?’ She asks Richie, and he nods, cupping his hands around his mouth and hollering, ‘LAST CALL, JERK OFFS,’ across the bar. He relishes the look of shock from the people who don’t frequent the place often, and Beverly laughs through her nose. ‘One day you’re going to get in trouble,’ she gripes, and he shrugs, turning to serve the customer who’s just walked up to the bar. ‘This place has seen worse than a few bad yelp reviews.’ 

Beverly can only shake her head in response.


	2. In Which Stanley Is Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie recruits the help of his friends to work out what his problem is. He does not like what the solution seems to require.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm back! With another chapter! 
> 
> This chapter introduces Bill, Mike and Stan hehe
> 
> I don't have much more to say except enjoy and please feel free to leave some concrit (as long as ur nice!!!!!!)

‘Do I come across as an asshole to you?’

‘Good morning to you too, Eddie.’

Stanley watches Eddie through his phone screen, which is propped up on the kitchen bench against one of the thick cookbooks Eddie keeps stacked around his flat. This particular one is written by one of his favourite home cooks, and Eddie explains the premise of the book as he beats flour into an egg and milk mixture with increasing ferocity. He’s making crepes, his default breakfast when he’s stressed that always feels easy to make despite the complex method. Stanley listens to him regurgitating the details of the book patiently, trying to keep up as Eddie speaks at full velocity. When Eddie finally stops for a breath, Stanley takes the opportunity to redirect the conversation back to where it started.

‘As much as I love listening to your little cookbook tangents, please explain why you decided to have this discussion at eight o’clock in the morning, and if the answer doesn’t involve me coming over for crepes - I can see the ingredients on the bench, no bullshit - then I am hanging up,’ says Stanley, watching Eddie move around his kitchen in violent bursts. He finds watching Eddie cook entertaining on account of the fact that Eddie wears a constant expression of pain despite making what he’s doing look totally effortless.

Eddie puts on a syrupy sweet voice as he replies, ‘that’s exactly why I was calling - to invite you for crepes, Stanley, that’s why I opened the call with a question about whether I seem like  _ that _ much of an asshole to you,’ and Stan recoils. The image of him on Eddie’s phone jolts violently as he moves from where he’s sitting on the other side of the phone and his surroundings become obscured by what Eddie figures is his hand as he gets ready to walk out the door. At one point, Eddie appears to be thrown haphazardly onto Stanley’s bed, where he has a clear view of the ceiling and an occasional elbow as Stanley gets dressed. There’s a shuffling noise as the phone is collected from the bed and Eddie thinks he hears Stan say something that’s too muffled to understand, when suddenly Stanley’s face appears in front of the screen again.

‘I just said that you are an asshole by the way, my hand was covering the mic,’ Stanley answers Eddie’s question, holding his phone up as he walks to the front door. ‘I’ll be over in fifteen, make sure you have jam,’ and with that, he hangs up, leaving Eddie staring at their text conversation. He frowns at the little survey that pops up asking about the quality of the call and smacks his phone face down on the bench, turning back to his crepes.

When he hears the buzzer go off almost exactly fifteen minutes later, Eddie turns the heat down on the stove in order to jog across the room and buzz Stan in, unlocking his door as he does so. He moves back to the stove and turns the heat back up, watching the crepe batter turn crispy and golden as it cooks. He has a small stack on a plate beside him, and as he hears Stanley enter the flat he pushes the plate over to him without looking up from the pan. 

‘There’s a Banoffee pie in the fridge,’ he grunts, and Stan nods appreciatively, opening the fridge door. 

‘You’ve outdone yourself,’ says Stan, staring at the pie with open admiration. ‘Surely last night wasn’t that bad.’

Eddie turns from the stove to glare at Stanley as his friend cuts himself a slab of pie and tenderly places it on a plate, grabbing three crepes and some homemade jam he’s procured from Eddie’s pantry before taking a seat at the kitchen counter.

‘Okay firstly, be honest about the pie, I tried making a coffee syrup for something different,’ says Eddie, looking at Stanley’s plate with a frown, ‘and secondly, the date was just fine until I hit up a bar afterwards where your coworker is apparently a regular and was called an asshole by the fucking manager.’

Stan looks at him with mild interest, blinking slowly as he uses his fork to cut a piece of pie and brings it to his mouth, closing his eyes in an expression of controlled reverence. ‘The pie is...adequate,’ he says after he’s finished, and Eddie scoffs, waving a hand at him dismissively. There’s a tight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth though and Stanley grins as he watches Eddie turn to the last batch of crepes.

‘How did the manager know you had been on a date with Will?’ Stanley asks, and Eddie’s shoulders jerk as he flips the last crepe off the pan and dumps his dirty dishes into the sink gracelessly. ‘He guessed,’ Eddie replies haughtily. ‘He guessed I had come off a shitty date and mentioned he’d had another customer that night who did the same thing.’

‘So how did he connect the dots?’ Asks Stan, turning his attention to the crepes. Eddie drops his head for a second, holding one hand up to his temples. 

'He mentioned that the regular talked about his date taking a fifteen minute bathroom break.’ 

Stan’s gaze shifts from his plate to Eddie’s face, which is creased in a frown. ‘Wow,’ he says.

‘ _ Wow  _ in-fucking-deed,’ Eddie hisses, tearing into a plain crepe. ‘Fuck, these are good,’ he says under his breath before snapping his attention back to Stanley. 

‘Why have you never told me how much of an asshole I am before?’ He demands, and Stanley looks at him with a pained expression. 

‘When has the issue ever come up?’ He asks, and Eddie shakes his head frantically, ripping another chunk out of his crepe. He seems to regret the decision as he chews viciously, holding a finger up at Stanley while his mouth is full. When he’s finished, he drops the crepe onto a plate and brings his hands down to grip the edge of the counter. 

‘I don’t fucking know man, I never thought it was an issue until last night!’ 

‘Was it like, a personal attack?’ Stanley asks, squinting at Eddie. 

‘I mean, he looked like Christmas had come early once he realised who I was so  _ maybe _ I took it personally.’ Eddie wears a dark expression as he pushes the plate of crepes towards Stanley’s side of the counter and starts on the dirty dishes in the sink. 

‘Do you want h-’ Stanley starts to ask and Eddie shakes his head violently. ‘Don’t be stupid, you’re a guest,’ Eddie snaps, scrubbing at his frying pan with steel wool. It's not crusty enough to justify using the wool, but Stan stays silent, not willing to open that particular can of worms while Eddie is in this state. He pulls out his phone and rests it flat on the counter, tapping at his screen with one finger in between bites of crepe. ‘I’m inviting Bill and Mike over.’

Eddie looks up from his frying pan with an unreadable expression before looking back down. 

‘I don’t need a pep talk,’ he grumbles quietly, and Stanley shakes his head, bringing his phone to his ear. ‘You are obviously spiraling so I’m calling for reinforcements, and also I need them to taste this pie, because I’m not sure something could taste that good unless I was like, dead and ascending.’

The compliment seems to placate Eddie and he launches into a monologue about his process for making the syrup as they wait for Bill and Mike to arrive. Eddie can’t help asking Stanley if Will has said anything about him, and Stanley reminds him that the date was less than 24 hours ago and also that it’s a weekend, and Eddie rolls his eyes. ‘You’re telling me he didn’t even send you a text rating my looks or anything?’ he asks, and Stanley looks at him with a deadpan expression. ‘Okay so he’s an accountant, not a frat boy, and besides, we’re not even that close at work. He’s just like, another sad gay dude I’ve taken pity on.’ Eddie only has time to shoot him a furious look as the buzzer sounds again.

‘Fuck you,’ he jabs a finger in Stanley’s direction, muttering under his breath as he walks over to his door and buzzes in Bill and Mike.

‘Here’s my favourite asshole,’ Mike enters with a grin, arms outstretched towards Eddie. 

‘Oh shut the fuck up,’ Eddie gripes, stepping into Mike’s arms relunctantely. Mike immediately wraps his arms around Eddie in a bone crushing hug, and Eddie protests, letting out little bursts of, ‘okay- alright- okay,  _ okay,’  _ in increasing volume as he fights his way out of Mike’s embrace. 

‘You should know by now that Mike’s a strong hugger,’ Bill smiles as he comes up behind them, watching the interaction with a soft expression. ‘Plus, I just thought you could use one,’ Mike shrugs, unapologetic, before walking over to the bench and looking at the pie with glittering eyes. Stanley nods at him silently, picking up the knife he used to cut his slice and handing it to Mike. Mike takes the knife from Stanley carefully, as though engaging in a rite of passage. They’ve all eaten Eddie’s food countless times, and yet it always feels like the first. Eddie sometimes wonders if they only keep him around for his cooking.

Eddie looks at Bill and jerks his head toward the kitchen Bill as they wander over to where Stanley and Mike are sitting in prayerful silence, sharing a slice of pie. Bill stands at the head of the counter and steals the forkful of pie that Mike is in the process of bringing to his mouth, waving the fork playfully. Mike attempts to snatch it back, knocking Stan in the process, and Eddie watches the three of them bicker like a pack of seagulls, secretly thrilled that the pie is a success but making sure to put on a show of rolling his eyes as he starts on a pot of coffee.

‘When you three are done behaving like a pack of animals - Bill you literally know where the forks are, don’t be disgusting - can we please get back to the matter at hand?’ 

‘And what would that be?’ Bill asks, looking at Eddie with feigned innocence.

‘You can’t pull that fake-innocence shit on me when your husband literally just made fun of me for it,’ Eddie snaps, and Mike laughs. ‘He’s got a point, Bill.’ Bill gives Mike a look of betrayal, separating himself from where the three of them have been huddled and crossing the kitchen to the cutlery drawer. ‘Drama queen,’ Mike mutters under his breath, but there is absolutely no hint of malice in his words. Eddie feels like he might have acid reflux. 

‘Am I an asshole?’ He asks the group loudly, and they all turn to him as he slams the coffee pot on the bench a little bit too hard, its contents sloshing dangerously close to the spout. He looks at them for a moment before turning sharply and opening the cupboard where he keeps the mugs, grabbing four at once and taking care to slam them down on the bench too, but gently.

‘We know that you know you are,’ Stanley says, helping himself to the coffee pot, ‘but I think the real question here is why are you so bothered by it  _ no _ w?’ 

Eddie looks at Bill, who’s nodding in agreement, and Mike, who is wearing an unreadable expression. ‘When did it start bothering you?’ Mike asks him, and Eddie purses his lips, recounting the events at the bar the night before. Bill and Mike listen patiently, making noises of support at the right parts and Bill suppresses a snort when Eddie recounts his interaction with Not-Molly. When he’s finished, Mike nods his head in a sage-like manner, giving the impression that he’s worked everything out. 

‘This isn’t the first time you’ve been called an asshole by a date,’ Mike tells Eddie, making it more of a statement than a question, and Eddie seems to roll his entire head, leaning the arm that’s holding his coffee on the other, which is crossed over his chest. ‘This is the first time you’ve been gossiped about to your face though, isn’t it?’ Mike continues, and Eddie frowns, exhaling sharply. 

‘Yes,’ he pouts, and Stan looks at him, stone faced. ‘Do you really think no one talks about you behind your back?’ He asks Eddie, and Eddie throws him a scathing look. 

‘And why the fuck is that relevant?’ He says, confirming Stan’s suspicions, ‘I couldn’t give less of a fuck about what people say about me when I’m not there.’ 

‘Except this time you do,’ Bill says, and Eddie rolls his eyes, lip curling. ‘Okay, sure,’ he concedes, ‘maybe this time fucked with me a little bit. Maybe the bartender’s unprofessionalism threw me off - who gossips about their patrons and then fucking tells them about it?’ He exclaims, and Bill gives him a sympathetic smile. ‘You could always complain,’ he suggests, and Eddie snorts. 

‘He was the owner. Besides, I don’t wanna seem like the kind of person who would ask to speak to the manager over things like that.’ 

‘You are the…’ Bill starts to say, but trails off when Mike places a hand on his arm. Eddie is thankful that at least one of them has a fucking braincell.

Stan looks thoughtful as he sips at his coffee, appearing to mull something over in his head. 

‘Maybe you actually should go back,’ he says after a moment, and Eddie gapes at him, not bothering to mask the abject horror he feels at the idea of even walking past the bar again. 

‘Fuck no!’ He exclaims, throwing his arms out at his sides in such a way that his coffee jumps violently over the side of the mug and dribbles down the side. ‘ _ Fuck, _ ’ Eddie curses, reaching for a towel to clean the mess. ‘I am not going back there, what the fuck Stanley,’ he continues, speech speeding up as he gets more and more worked up. ‘Could you imagine? What would I do, walk in and be like  _ hey remember me, The Asshole _ ?  _ I just have a few questions to ask... _ Are you nuts? Also, the place had the stickiest floor I’ve ever walked on and it was grim as fuck, I don’t know what kind of people frequent the place but it’s clear they’re all fucking degenerates, who knows what I could contract if I go there again.’ He’s only half lying, and he knows his friends can see right through him.

‘Okay but let me finish,’ Stan replies patiently, placing his now empty mug on the counter and lacing his fingers together. ‘You should go back and ask whether a lot of people come there to complain about so-called assholes they encounter. Call it research.’ 

‘This is like...a really good idea,’ Bill says, and Mike claps a hand on Stanley’s shoulder in support. ‘You might be onto something,’ he grins, looking at Eddie for further feedback, and Eddie growls low in his throat.

‘No.  _ No.  _ Fuck no, this is not a good fucking idea! Stan doesn’t know shit! I’m not going back to that fucking bar to basically ask them for what? Tips on how not to be an asshole? I know how to date!’ Eddie’s speech is almost too fast for the words to come out clearly. Panicking, he tries not to look as hysterical as he feels. 

He tries to glare at Bill, Mike and Stanley for a moment, feeling his resolve weaken as they stare back, not giving in to his attitude. In a last ditch effort to escape, he packs up the last of the mess in the kitchen and leaves the three of them behind, walking into the lounge and dropping onto the couch with a  _ whoomph. _ He counts his breaths for a moment, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars popping in and out of the darkness. He hears his friends enter the space before he sees them, refusing to take his hands down from his eyes until he knows they've made themselves comfortable. When he opens his eyes, he finds Bill, Mike and Stanley all positioned in a way that he feels weirdly cornered.

‘Let’s try this again,’ Stanley says, staring at Eddie from his perch on the daybed attached to the couch. Eddie grunts, feeling very much like a caged animal, and he doesn’t know how things spiraled out of control so fucking fast. Maybe he’s a dramatic bitch on top of being an asshole. Today just seems to be full of revelations! Fantastic! He sighs deeply before turning his face to Stanley, expression dark. ‘Okay. Lay it on me,’ he says, and Stanley drops his head in relief. 

‘You are such a fucking child,’ Stanley chides, and Eddie rolls his eyes so hard he feels the dull pain of strained eye muscles. ‘I’m not sorry,’ he pouts, and this time Stanley rolls his eyes, shaking his head slightly. ‘ _ Anyway,’ _ he puts emphasis on the word and Eddie sits in sullen silence as he listens to Stanley.

‘Go to the bar, ask the bartender if he thinks you’re an asshole-’ 

‘He definitely thinks I’m an asshole,’ Eddie interjects, and Stanley stares at him in silence until he concedes, waving his hand at Stan to continue. 

‘ _ Ask him if he thinks you’re an asshole _ , and then ask if he ever gets other customers complaining about...people like...you.’ At this, Eddie scoffs, barking out a sharp, ‘gee, thanks,’ and Stanley ignores him as he continues, ‘ _ and _ if he doesn’t tell you anything then it’s whatever and you can stop feeling shitty about a character trait that is, unfortunately for the rest of us, probably not going to change.’ 

Eddie blinks rapidly for a second, unsure whether Stanley is trying to comfort him or insult him with the last part of what he says, but he’s distracted by Bill clearing his throat, lips in a tight line as he waits for the attention to shift to him. 

‘For what it’s worth Eddie, I don’t think you’re an asshole. Relationships can be scary.’ 

‘Gee, thanks, Mike’s husband, that’s real helpful! Why don’t you write a fucking book about it,’ Eddie snaps, and immediately feels bad when Bill replies with an exasperated, ‘c’mon, Eddie.’ Mike’s expression is unimpressed, and it’s this that makes Eddie realise he really has been behaving like a child over this whole exchange which, truthfully, should not be that big of a deal. He doesn’t know those people! what the fuck should he care what they think? But something in his stomach twinges - a brief memory of the bartender ( _ Did his name start with an ‘R’?  _ He tries to remember) and the way he positively  _ beamed _ at Eddie, right before calling him an asshole. The image of him smiling in Eddie’s head, glasses being lifted by the scrunch of his nose, makes him feel like he’s about to enter a free fall.  _ Let’s unpack that later,  _ says a voice in his head, and he turns his attention back to his friends, who are watching him expectantly.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says quickly, looking between Bill and Mike, ‘I’m just feeling a little...overwhelmed. I don’t know why this is making me feel so crazy.’ His tone is genuine, and the others offer him little smiles in a nonverbal acceptance of his apology.

‘You’re so goddamn sensitive it’s maddening,’ Stanley sighs, pushing himself off the couch and heading for the door. ‘You’re lucky you know how to cook,’ he says, and Eddie lets out a squawk of indignation. 

‘You know I have a complex about that, dickface!’ He shouts, but Stanley just waves an arm at him, letting out a nonchalant  _ ‘bah,’  _ noise as he opens the door to leave. 

‘At least take some fucking pie home then, if that’s all you’re here for,’ Eddie snaps, and Stanley spins around on the spot, wide smile spreading across his face. ‘I almost forgot,’ he says, and Eddie narrows his eyes as Bill, Mike and Stanley all follow him into the kitchen to collect their snacks for the road.

When his friends have left, Eddie lets out a deep breath he hasn’t realised he’s been holding until this moment. Turns out talking about deeply ingrained flaws in your personality is scary and exhausting. Who would have thought. He reheats the leftover coffee in the pot and pours himself a large cup, picking up one of his favourite books about difficult desserts, and wanders back to his couch, sinking into the cushions as he flips through the glossy pages, taking note of what he has and hasn’t made. Sipping his coffee, he mulls over what Stanley suggested, trying to restructure the semantics in his head as if he was planning to make a really difficult dessert . He figures it can’t really hurt to go back to the bar - he’s only been there once before, so it’s hardly like he’s a regular - and asking R...whatever his name was is only going to be helpful, whether that means he learns how to chill the fuck out a little more, or he learns to never step foot in the bar again for the rest of his natural life. Downing the rest of his coffee, he makes the decision, snapping the book shut and letting it rest on his coffee table. He checks the time and realises it’s only just past one-thirty in the afternoon, so he decides to make something quick, whipping up a large bowl of meringue to make macarons ( _ difficult dessert my ass, fuck you,  _ he thinks as he smacks the tray of shells on his kitchen counter). 

As he waits for the shells to set, he goes about cleaning his flat, taking care to wipe down the fly screens on the windows and dust behind his television unit. When the macaron shells are dry to the touch he places them gently in the oven, setting the timer and moving on to cleaning the bathroom. He grabs rubber gloves and bleach from under the kitchen sink and scrubs at the shower and toilet until he’s sweating, wiping an arm over his forehead as he catches his breath. The oven timer goes off, and he leaves the bathroom unfinished in favour of finishing the macarons. When they’ve been filled and safely stored in an airtight container, he takes a moment to collect himself. He almost wishes he had asked his friends to stay a little bit longer and help him, but he also cringes at the thought of them listening to him try and form a plan, so he settles for sitting at the kitchen counter with a scrappy composition book he usually uses to jot down recipe ideas. He figures his current circumstances fall on the same spectrum. 

‘Okay, Plan...Of...Attack…’ he narrates under his breath as he writes the title of his plan in a scrawl that most would call illegible. First he writes a pros and cons list, where he begrudgingly writes in the ‘pros’ column that visiting the bar again would mean he gets to see R’s smile again. He makes sure to add a note that the prospect of making R smile would strictly be for research purposes. He knows this is a bold-faced lie and decides to abandon the pros in favour of instead working out the cons. He lists the number of health violations he thinks the bar has as the first big con, ignoring the fact that he was, truthfully, quietly impressed by the place the first time he visited. He stares at the page for a moment, eyes flicking between the columns before screwing up his nose and scribbling a frantic  _ would have to talk to R.  _ He might not be able to ignore the fact that R is, unfortunately for him, attractive, but he can definitely lock that feeling away and never admit it out loud lest he die on the spot. This isn’t even about the stupid bartender anyway! He reminds himself that he’s going for  _ advice  _ and  _ research,  _ and makes a note that talking to the female bartender - who’s name he actually does remember as being  _ Beverly,  _ purely because of the mortifying process of finding out - will probably yield better results than trying to talk to... _Anyway_.

When he’s filled the page with something that looks more like a stream of consciousness rather than a viable plan, he snaps a picture and makes a group message with Bill, Mike, Stan and him, and sends through the picture. 

**From: Stan**

**To: Help**

**[4:00pm] Nice chat name.**

**[4:01pm] Honestly though, I cannot read your writing so I’m just gonna say good plan.**

**From: Bill**

**To: Help**

**[4:05pm] Mike will be able to read ur writing han g on**

**[4:10pm] He says ‘good plan’**

**From: Mike**

**To: Help**

**[4:10pm] Okay so I can’t read it either**

**[4:10pm] BUT ONLY because the picture is kind of blurry**

**[4:10pm] Can you take a better one?**

Eddie rolls his eyes and mutters ‘bunch of losers,’ under his breath before taking a better picture and sending it through.

**To: Help**

**From: Eddie**

**[4:10pm]** **_Image delivered successfully_ **

**[4:15pm] Is that clearer, assholes?**

**From: Mike**

**To: Help**

**[4:20pm] Heaps! One sec.**

**[4:20pm] It is actually a good plan**

**[4:21pm] Your thought patterns are so interesting, I’d love to have a read through this notebook sometime if you were comfortable**

**To: Help**

**From: Eddie**

**[4:21] I only write recipe ideas in it so it’s pretty boring.**

**From: Mike**

**To: Help**

**[4:22] Still!**

Eddie taps out of the conversation and locks his phone screen, closing his notebook with a  _ snap.  _ Getting Mike’s approval makes him feel marginally more confident, and he sucks in his cheek, chewing absently on the soft skin as he thinks. He thinks this plan is stupid and he should stay home and just get over it. He thinks he should finish cleaning his bathroom before he leaves. He thinks he should probably take a nap.

It’s going to be a long night, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's probably super clear that I am reading way too many smaus at the moment because I can't help but adding in the little texting segues but I'm also conscious of not makings things more confusing than they need to be so if this causes any readability issues please let me know! Hope this was a fun chapter to read because it certainly was a fun one to write lmao, idk when the next chapter is coming but it will hopefully be soon!!!


	3. In Which Richie Has Some Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following his friends advice is hard. Trying to have a normal conversation with Richie is harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLLOOOOOO oh my god this is late lmao
> 
> I really struggled with this chapter for some reason! I hope it doesn't happen again because waiting for updates sucks! I'm sorry! I have nothing else to say! Please enjoy!

There’s a steady crowd building in the bar tonight, and Richie surveys the tables from where he stands behind the counter, eyes flicking to the door whenever he hears it swing open. The weather is starting to cool down, which can go one of two ways: it’ll be very quiet or very busy. Luckily tonight seems to fall into the latter category, and the place is alive with people out for a nightcap. Beverly seems to be in a good mood tonight, surreptitiously glancing at her phone every now and again, and Richie takes it upon himself to be as annoying as possible about it. It did not escape his attention that Ben gave Beverly his number last night, and despite the two of them literally living together, he hasn’t had an opportunity to rib her about it until now - and not for lack of trying. When they got home last night he barely had time to say goodnight before Beverly shut herself up in her room, faint laughs echoing through the wall connecting their rooms every now and again. It’s not that he’s mad about it, in fact he’s happier than probably anyone else would be considering the circumstances, but hell, what’s a man gotta do around here to get the chance to tease his best friend over a crush?

‘I swear to God, Richie,’ Beverly warns as he sidles up to where she’s serving a customer. She tries valiantly to ignore the way he’s waggling his eyebrows at her, but she can’t ignore the way her customer’s gaze keeps flicking between the two of them, politely confused. ‘I’m so sorry about him,’ she apologises to the customer, ‘this one’s on me.’ The customer beams a loud ‘thank you’ at this, leaving her a generous tip, and Richie doesn’t miss the look they give him as they head back to where their friends are sitting. When Beverly turns on Richie, he adopts a look of feigned innocence, tilting his head at her with wide eyes.

‘What?’ He asks, bringing his hand to his chest as if wounded, ‘can’t I just check in on my best and most loyal employee?’ 

Beverly scoffs loudly, wearing an expression of fake incredulity as she wipes down the bench with a rag.

‘Yes, because you being kind and caring  _ never _ comes with an ulterior motive,’ she drawls sarcastically, looking up at Richie out of the corner of her eye. When he continues to leer at her, she stops wiping the bench with a sigh and turns to him properly, looking up at him with a hand on her hip. ‘Look Richie, if you’re here to bother me about what I think you’re here to bother me about, I don’t want to hear it.’ Richie takes this as a confirmation of his suspicions and he starts waggling his eyebrows again, more out of excitement than the need to continue being a menace. 

‘Shall we set some boundaries then?’ Richie says, grinning at Beverly wolfishly. She glares at him as she throws the rag into the sink, turning back and crossing her arms expectantly, as she shifts her weight onto one leg. ‘Go on then,’ she deadpans, ‘what would you consider the boundaries of this conversation?’ Richie’s expression is full of glee as he takes her question as permission to get all the ribbing he can out of his system in one go.

‘Perhaps the fact that you are in love with Ben?’ Richie starts, but as Beverly opens her mouth angrily, he continues, ‘would mentioning the fact that I definitely saw him give you his number last night be crossing a boundary? Or the fact that you couldn’t stop fiddling with it through your apron until we got home? Oh and  _ don’t  _ think I couldn’t hear you giggling like a high-schooler in your room all night-’

‘ _ Okay!  _ Okay, we get it,’ Beverly talks over him, scrunching her nose up, ‘those all seem like pretty solid boundaries. Perhaps the single brain cell bopping around your head like a dvd screensaver deserves some credit after all.’

‘Ah-ha!’ Richie exclaims, and Beverly looks like she wants to clap her hands over his mouth so she doesn’t have to hear what bullshit he’s going to come out with next. ‘I love being right,’ he sighs happily, ‘but I can’t believe you’re getting  _ involved _ with a customer! How scandalous Red, maybe I should start calling you “Miss.  _ A”.’ _

‘Bold words coming from someone who recklessly flirts with customers on a regular basis,’ Beverly shoots back, and Richie shrugs, unbothered. ‘And besides, I don’t  _ love  _ him, I just think he’s interesting. He’s been a loyal regular for months now and he’s fun to talk to.’

Richie snorts, turning to unstack a dishwasher as he retorts, ‘okay firstly, how do you think I get so many tips? And secondly, bold of you to try lying to my face like that.’ She huffs out a breath and waves her hand at him dismissively, turning to find an empty tub. He watches her with a grin as he stacks glasses in the racks, knowing that she’s using her rounds as an excuse to get out of the conversation. 

She turns to face him once she’s located her tub and tucked it under her arm securely. ‘Regardless of the motivations, let it be known that whether you believe me or not,’ she announces, tone defensive, ‘I wasn’t flirting, we’re just going to hang out like normal people, not that you would know what that’s like.’ And with that, she turns from him and lifts the closest hatch, ducking out from behind the bar and working her way into the crowd.

‘This isn’t over, Ms Scarlet!’ Richie yells after her, waving his fist comically, and she barely spares him a look as she zips around the tables, stacking glasses in her tub with ease. Richie watches her for a moment with a fond expression. Truthfully he’s happy for her - he can’t think of anyone who deserves to be with someone who’s actually nice more than her - and Ben might just be the kindest dude he’s ever met. Secretly he has been rooting for them, though he would never tell Bev that (at least not while he’s sober). Beverly catches his eye as she moves around a table and pokes her tongue out at him, winking as she continues moving around the noisy space. Richie chuckles to himself, scrubbing a hand over his face as he moves along the bar and checks on the other staff he has working tonight. It’s an easy night, despite the bustling energy of the crowd, and he lets himself get lost in the motions of working, wondering what more the night is yet to bring.

***

When Eddie arrives at the bar, he takes a moment outside to compose himself, gathering up the nerve to actually walk inside. He pretends he’s interested in the flyers that are pasted over the exterior, noticing the name of the place for the first time;  _ The Clubhouse.  _ It’s ridiculous, and Eddie twists his face into a grimace.  _ What kind of a bullshit baby name is that? Is he trying to be quirky?  _ Eddie grumbles to himself in his head as he peers in through the windows, trying to suss out the vibes inside. He thinks he sees a flash of light reflecting off someone’s glasses and jumps out of view, heart racing.  _ This is ridiculous. _ He contemplates messaging his friends to boost his morale, but he figures he’s not going to get very much further than he did whilst getting verbally accosted by them earlier. When he’s unable to find any more reasons not to walk in, he takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, immediately swallowed up in a swell of noise and warmth. It’s almost comforting, Eddie thinks to himself, before he remembers why he’s there in the first place. He feels himself grimace again, and before he can rearrange his face into something neutral once again, someone walks into him, clearly distracted by the extremely handsome man who walked in a moment before Eddie. When she looks up to apologise, he realises it’s the bartender from last night - Beverly - and he tries to look happier to see her than he actually is. 

‘Oh, I’m so s- It’s you!’ She exclaims, adjusting the tub of glasses currently nestled under her arm. ‘Back so soon?’

Eddie fidgets uncomfortably, gaze flicking between her and the man who’s now standing next to her. The warmth inside the bar seems to be emanating directly from this guy’s smile, and Eddie feels his defences weaken. 

‘I- yeah,’ he says, ‘I’m...gonna get a drink.’ The words tumble out of his mouth awkwardly and he clears his throat, blinking at the two of them with a smile he hopes doesn’t look too pained.

An unreadable expression passes over Beverly’s face, but it’s gone before Eddie has time to work out what it means. She adjusts the tub again, batting off her friend when he asks her if she needs a hand.

‘Well,’ she says, giving him a bright smile, ‘enjoy your night!’ And with that, she and the man are gone, walking amicably through the bar. 

Eddie follows them with his eyes for a moment before scrubbing a hand over his face and looking to the ceiling briefly. His ears are burning as he looks around trying to locate an empty spot at the bar, and as he does so he realises the other bartender from last night -  _ Richie,  _ the name materialises in his head, memory no doubt triggered by being back in the bar - __ has just noticed him standing there, and there’s a wide, smug grin creeping onto his face. Eddie rolls his eyes, shoving his hands into his pockets and navigating his way around the tables that each host groups of people celebrating the end of the week. It’s surprisingly busy considering how cold it is outside, and Eddie has to move carefully to avoid bumping into people. When he gets to the bar Richie adjusts his glasses before crossing his arms, giving Eddie an appraising look. 

‘Couldn’t get enough of me last night, huh?’ He asks, and Eddie feels a muscle in his neck jump with irritation. Richie’s eyes flick down to his neck for half a second before flicking back up to his face, clear and bright. 

‘Not everything is about you,’ Eddie retorts, looking up at Richie with a ferocious look. Richie beams as he replies, ‘that’s news to me!’ 

He grabs a glass off the rack and holds it up to Eddie.

‘Pick your poison,’ he says, and Eddie reads the names of the beers on tap, irritation pricking at his skin again as he realises they’re all local craft beers. He picks out the pale ale and watches as Richie flicks the tap. He generates almost no excess foam and Eddie finds himself begrudgingly impressed as Richie places the drink in front of him. He is wearing that smug smile again, and Eddie becomes painfully aware of the feeling of his heart beating against his chest, using his beer as an excuse to take a moment and compose himself. On the way here he told himself this would be an in-and-out job; ask for advice, get advice, leave. But now that he’s here the idea is seeming more and more ridiculous, and he feels a sort of resignation build up as he tries to work out how to bring up what he came here to talk about without sounding like a freak. 

‘Busy night,’ he says dumbly, setting his glass down a little too hard. The amber liquid inside jumps up the sides of the glass dangerously, and Richie watches it before looking at Eddie with an amused expression.

‘You okay there, Eds?’ Richie asks, and Eddie is stunned for a moment before coming back to his senses. 

‘Don’t call me that,’ he says out of impulse, then, a little quieter, ‘you remember my name?’

‘I mean, you were only here last night,’ Richie says matter-of-factly, and Eddie figures that’s reasonable, he remembered Richie’s name too (sort of), after all. 

‘So?’ Richie looks at him expectantly, and Eddie frowns at him. 

‘So what?’ He asks, obviously confused. Richie replies, ‘you never answered my question; something troublin’ ya, bud?’ and Eddie feels his heart start thumping again. 

‘Do I look troubled?’ he asks, holding his beer defensively, and Richie’s smile is hungry when he answers, ‘I think you look some kind of way.’ The implications bring Eddie’s eyebrows further down his forehead, and he looks around the bar moodily. 

‘Are you always such a fucking drama queen?’ Richie asks, voice brimming with laughter, and Eddie takes a morose sip of beer. 

‘I’m not just gonna spill my guts to you like some drunk loser in a movie’ He snaps, and Richie holds his hands up in surrender. ‘Okay damn, slow down cowboy.’

‘You fucking slow down,’ Eddie retorts, and Richie gives Eddie a confused smile. 

‘I’m not the one acting like a constipated little asshole’ He snips, and Eddie scrunches his face up.

‘Fuck you man, I came here to ask for advice but now I’m not fucking sure I want it,’ he says, and the confused smile stays frozen on Richie’s face.

‘Don’t you have like, friends?’ Richie says, eyebrows shooting up when Eddie lets out an audible grumble. ‘I thought you would have more...frontline knowledge,’ he mumbles, and Richie narrows his eyes. ‘What  _ frontline knowledge _ are we talking about here?’ and Eddie’s voice is almost inaudible as he answers, ‘dealing with assholes.’

Comprehension dawns on Richie’s face, and he nods slowly as he says ‘Ah, you’ve come to the right place, young padawan,’ making Eddie snort. ‘You’re talking to a bona fide asshole, isn’t that right, Bev?’ 

Beverly has appeared behind the bar, and she gives Richie a self explanatory look, eyebrows turned comically upwards in the middle. ‘You want me to answer that honestly?’ She says, glancing over at Eddie with a knowing smile, and Eddie purses his lips. 

‘Do you have an issue with assholes? Or being an asshole?’ Richie asks, ignoring Beverly in favour of leaning on the bar, and Eddie grimaces into his drink, lamenting the fact that it’s already almost empty. ‘What do you think?’ he replies, voice slightly muffled by the glass at his lips, and Richie looks at Bev with a surprised smile. ‘We’ve got a self aware one,’ he tells her, and she rolls her eyes. ‘Be nice, Rich.’

At that moment, the handsome man who was with Beverly when Eddie entered the bar takes a seat next to him. 

‘Hey!’ he says when he notices Eddie sitting next to him, ‘we met earlier right? I’m Ben,’ he introduces himself with the same smile he wore when Eddie saw him earlier, and once again Eddie finds himself feeling strangely defenceless. ‘Eddie,’ he says, holding his hand out. Ben takes it and shakes it twice, smiling the whole time. Behind the bar, Beverly and Richie watch the exchange with the expression of proud parents. 

‘We got him, honey,’ Richie says to her, wiping fake tears out of his eyes, and Bev tilts her head in fake annoyance. ‘As if you weren’t planning entrapment the minute you laid eyes on him,’ she mutters under her breath, and Richie immediately stops fake weeping to shoot her the same hungry grin he gave Eddie before. 

‘What brings you here tonight?’ Ben asks Eddie, both of them oblivious to the scene playing out in front of them. Eddie gulps down the last of his drink before answering.

‘I need some help,’ he answers bluntly, and Ben nods his head in understanding. ‘So you came here?’ he asks, mischievous smile tugging at his lips. ‘Seeking advice on a night Richie was working may not have been the smartest idea.’

***

Richie, for what it’s worth, is having the time of his life. Eddie’s appearance in the bar tonight was a surprise for sure. Him specifically coming to ask for help was even more of a surprise, given their interaction the previous night. Nonetheless, Richie is not complaining as he watches Eddie get more and more worked up from being teased. 

‘Shut it Ben, I give excellent advice,’ he says as Ben pokes fun at Eddie’s decision to come to Richie for advice. ‘Listen Spagheds, if you really want my help I’m gonna need some more information.’ Eddie’s face contorts delightfully at the nickname, and Richie feels himself flush with glee.

‘That’s  _ not _ my name,’ Eddie says through clenched teeth. It’s almost too easy to rile this dude up, and if Richie was a better man he would feel bad for poking so much fun, but as it stands, he finds himself unable to stop, purely because Eddie’s reactions seem to give him the same rush of endorphins he imagines skydiving or bungee jumping would give him. It’s almost becoming an addiction. Underneath it all, he really does want to help this dude, but he keeps getting distracted, wanting to see how far he can push; to see what other reactions he can illicit. He feels like he’s ten years old experiencing the incessant desperation to get his first crush’s attention all over again. 

‘And yet you wear it so well,’ Richie replies, throwing his hands up as Beverly swats at him. 

‘Hey,  _ hey, _ watch it!’ he exclaims, and Beverly rolls her eyes, turning her attention to Ben. 

‘Care to follow me for another round?’ She asks him sweetly, ‘this conversation is tiring me out.’ Ben huffs out a laugh, downing the last of his drink before patting his pockets and slipping off his barstool.

‘With pleasure,’ he replies, glancing at Richie and Eddie with a shy smile, ‘good luck, Eddie,’ he pats Eddie on the shoulder, and the two of them set off, Richie and Eddie watching them with opposite expressions. 

‘So,’ Richie all but purrs, ‘alone at last.’ 

Eddie pulls another disgusted face and Richie feels high. 

‘You know, I can understand why people think you’re such an asshole when you pull faces like that at the barest hint of a joke being made around you,’ Richie continues to tease, and Eddie’s face goes through a myriad of emotions before returning to his regular scowl. 

‘I know how to take a joke,’ he protests, and Richie cocks an eyebrow. ‘That doesn’t mean you know how to interact with people like, generally.’ 

Eddie has no comeback for this besides picking up his glass as a diversion, face falling as he realises it’s empty. Richie takes it from him and refills it with the same beer from before. It’s late enough that the crowd is starting to thin out, and whilst this should mean that Eddie and Richie have less privacy in which to talk, the opposite seems true. Between their corner of the bar being all but abandoned by customers and bar staff periodically waving goodbye to Richie as they clock off for the night, it seems like the perfect opportunity for Richie to talk to Eddie with no distractions. Beverly is wiping down the empty tables, Ben still hovering around her as they chat quietly. Richie watches them for a minute as Eddie takes a gulp of his fresh drink appreciatively, faint blush settling over his cheekbones, and if Richie was a weaker man, he would be thinking about this moment for the rest of the week. As it stands, he is a professional, and he shakes his head slightly as he turns his focus back to Eddie completely.

‘Okay, seriously though,’ he says, adjusting his glasses as Eddie lowers his drink from his mouth. ‘Walk me through what was so bad about the last few dates you went on.’

Eddie cringes, eyebrows knit together as Richie watches him dig through his memory, likely trying to identify the standout points of the last dates he was on. 

‘Ah, okay, well - let’s see,’ Eddie sighs after a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to ward off the beginning of a headache. ‘You obviously know about Will,’ 

‘Fuck yeah I do,’ Richie replies with a grin, relishing in the way Eddie seems only to pinch his nose harder. ‘Okay, okay,’ he gripes. After another moment he takes his hand from his nose and switches focus to his eyes, rubbing at them tiredly.

‘I feel like that’s an unfair scenario anyway because he was rude first,’ Eddie tries defending himself, and the words come fast, but he’s avoiding Richie’s eye as he speaks, so Richie narrows his eyes, bobbing his head around to try and catch Eddie’s eye. Even though his resolve is obviously weak, Eddie is making a valiant effort to stay steadfast in his opinion that Will was the rude one on their date, and from what Richie knows of Will - a soft spoken, caring regular who orders a half strength vodka-soda every other night and never fails to tell Beverly not to let Richie push her around - he finds the idea of this man being intentionally rude hard to believe.

‘How was he rude?’ Richie asks persistently, finally catching Eddie’s eye, and Eddie looks up at him through those heavy set eyebrows of his. 

‘He spoke with his mouth full.’ 

There is no elaboration on his statement and Richie nods slowly, pursing his lips as he turns this information over in his head.

‘Okay,’ he says slowly, still thinking, ‘are we talking like, cheeks bulging, food-falling-out-of-mouth, or was it like, just-swallowed, taking-a-second-to-breathe-before-speaking kind of behaviour?’ 

‘That’s exactly what Stan asked! Is there a fucking difference?’ Eddie exclaims, and Richie doesn’t know who Stan is, but he feels suspiciously as though they would get along.

‘I’m assuming this is who you spoke to during your fifteen minute toilet break? After which you speed drank another cocktail and then bolted?’ 

Eddie’s silence speaks volumes, and Richie nods again, starting to compile the facts in his head.

‘Okay so strike one.’ Richie makes to cross off an invisible tally in the air between them. ‘Tell me more.’

‘Well...the guy before him wouldn’t wash his hands before eating.’ 

Richie blinks three times, waiting for Eddie to continue before realising he’s not getting any further elaboration on this one either.

‘Oh! You’re done? Like you’re done speaking?’ He asks suddenly, voice laced with sarcastic surprise. ‘Sorry I took a second there, I was just waiting for you to continue by telling me that he worked in a commercial composting facility and didn’t wear gloves at work that day.’

‘Oh fuck off,’ Eddie rolls his eyes, ‘you run a bar, for Christ’s sake, you should recognise how unhygienic that is!’ 

‘It’s also normal for like, ninety percent of the population,’ Richie counters, ‘do you eat exclusively with your bare hands? Are you a literal child?’

‘Okay firstly that’s a false statistic, and secondly, not the point!’

Eddie’s voice is getting higher and higher as he gets worked up, and Richie watches him with his arms crossed, trying to contain himself. 

‘Whatever, tell me about another one.’

Eddie looks at Richie with suspicion. ‘Somehow I think your motivations for hearing about my love life are becoming less than altruistic,’ he grumbles, and Richie gives him a look of fake incredulity. 

‘Who, me? I would never!’ He makes his voice come out comically breathy in protest, and Eddie’s eye twitches. ‘C’mon, Edward, give me another one - it’s for research purposes!’

‘God,’ Eddie groans, wringing his hands. ‘Okay, the one  _ before  _ that didn’t sleep with a top sheet and wouldn’t make his bed unless I asked him to.’

There’s a pause, and though Richie fights it with all his might, this final example makes his attempt to stay relatively objective crumble into dust. 

‘Okay Eddie, is this a fucking joke?’ 

His outburst startles Eddie, but he can’t bring himself to feel genuinely sorry for this dude any longer. ‘Are you clinically insane?’ he continues, genuinely incredulous, and a look of clear hurt flashes suddenly across Eddie’s face.

‘Don’t ask me that.’ 

His voice is quiet and artificially steady, and Richie recognises immediately that he’s crossed a boundary. ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologises with sincerity, and Eddie looks into his lap. 

‘Y’know what, this has been a long night for both of us,’ Eddie says slowly, ‘I’m sure you need to close the bar and clearly this is just a joke to you, which I should have figured because it’s clear you’re incapable of taking anything seriously, and we’re still essentially strangers so I’m just gonna go home, okay? Sorry for bothering you.’ 

A sudden wave of guilt washes over Richie and sits heavy in his chest, and he feels his face grow warm as he watches Eddie adjust his jacket and get off his stool.

‘Hang on, wait, you don’t have to leave, I said I’m sorry,’ he says, backtracking, but Eddie ignores him. ‘C’mon, Eddie, hey-  _ wait,’  _ Richie pleads, ducking out from under the bar and stepping in front of Eddie, blocking his path. Eddie is stopped in his tracks, watching Richie with an unreadable expression. 

‘Here-’ Richie scrambles, digging around in his pocket for a pen. ‘Take my number, give me a call the next time you’re on a date and you feel yourself inching into asshole territory, okay?’ He watches as the tension in Eddie’s body eases slightly, looking at the napkin Richie is holding out to him. 

‘Your handwriting is worse than mine,’ he says blankly.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Richie rolls his eyes, smile tugging at his mouth as he takes a moment to look around at how many stragglers are left in the bar. ‘Hey listen though,’ he says, turning back to Eddie, ‘I know I just made a big deal about you not leaving but I actually do think it’s time for last call.’ Eddie gives him an unimpressed look, stashing the napkin in his jacket pocket.

‘Did I just hear something about “last call?”.’

Both Richie and Eddie jump as Beverly materialises between them, standing with one hand on her hip and the other supporting a half-full tub that clinks quietly as she shifts her weight. ‘Nothing good ever happens when there are this many stragglers left on a busy night,’ she says with a sly smile, and Richie smiles back, looking past her suddenly as though to look for someone. 

‘Ben?’ he asks, and Beverly’s smile softens into something more fond. 

‘He went home,’ she explains, ‘you two seemed to be having a pretty intense conversation and he didn’t want to bother you. He said to say goodbye.’

‘Goodbye, Ben,’ Richie says sweetly, blowing a kiss up to the roof. Beverly rolls her eyes, turning to address Eddie. 

‘Are you leaving too?’ She asks, and Eddie nods, shrugging his hands into his pockets.

‘I think I got what I needed,’ he says, glancing at Richie. Richie feels his face grow warm, hand coming up to cup the back of his neck absentmindedly. 

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he says, eyes darting everywhere but Eddie’s face. ‘Go the fuck home already so I can close this dive.’

Beverly looks between the two of them with an odd smile on her face, and when she meets Richie’s eyes he looks away quickly, feeling strangely exposed. As he watches Eddie leave, he feels Beverly’s gaze boring into his side. 

‘Please know I will absolutely be interrogating you about this the entire way home,’ she says as the door closes behind Eddie, doorbell twinkling quietly. 

‘I’m sure I absolutely do not know what you are talking about,’ Richie deflects, turning back to the bar and raising his hands to his mouth to announce Last Call.

***

Eddie fingers the napkin with Richie’s phone number the entire way home, barely even aware that he’s doing it. When he gets home, he takes it out of his jacket pocket and adds it to his phone before stripping off his clothes and sliding into bed. He struggles with insomnia at the best of times, and tonight is no exception. When he’s been staring at the ceiling for an hour to no avail, he turns over and reaches blindly for the emergency melatonin he keeps in his bedside drawer, swallowing the capsule dry and settling back as he waits for the medication to take effect. 

As he finally feels a wave of drowsiness pressing down on his eyelids, the last thought that crosses his mind is whether or not Richie uses a top sheet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on twitter @TWINKREVALI, come say hi :)


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